9 Lord, when this vine in Canaan grew Thou wast its strength and glory too; Attack'd in vain by all its foes, Till the fair Branch of Promise rose;
10 Fair Branch, ordain'd of old to shoot From David's stock, from Jacob's root; Himself a noble vine, and we The lesser branches of the tree.
11 'Tis thy own Son, and he shall stand Girt with thy strength at thy right hand; Thy first-born Son, adorn'd and blest With power and grace above the rest.
12 O! for his sake attend our cry, Shine on thy churches lest they die; Turn us to thee, thy love restore, We shall be sav'd, and sigh no more.